


To Break Sometimes

by howterrifying



Series: The Denial Mode Series [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlolly - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howterrifying/pseuds/howterrifying
Summary: When pain invades the deepest room in Sherlock's heart, Molly is the only one he can turn to.(written 5 May 2015)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: The Denial Mode Series [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732471
Kudos: 31





	To Break Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> The Denial Mode Series began in the midst of me struggling to get through my soap opera of a multi-chapter fic, The Admirer. In between, as a sort of refresher, and also as my way of ‘denying’ I had stuff to work on, I would call out for these prompts. The call was to either send me a single word or a single song. I received all sorts of lovely responses and these are the stories that developed from them. They mean a lot to me and I remember every single one of them from just looking at their titles. I hope you will enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. :) x
> 
> ::
> 
> Anonymous asked: I don't know if you're full on prompts, but just in case you're not... "Heart Skipped A Beat" by The xx, or "Breaking The Girl" (the Anna Nalick cover), pretty please!
> 
> I listened to both songs and they combined to form this very, very sad story. I also couldn’t resist taking an iconic Sherlolly line and throwing it in. And for those who know me, you’ll know why this piece really made me sad. :( In any case, thank you for introducing two lovely songs to me and for submitting your prompt!. I hope I’ve done your songs justice. x
> 
> “Sometimes, I still need you”  
> “We were the two, our lives rearranged"

**To Break Sometimes**

It was a terribly cold night and Molly had gone to bed under all the blankets she could find. She had wrapped herself comfortably up to her ears. So well had she wrapped herself that her phone had rung a good ten times before she heard it, finally stirring her from her sleep.

“Coming…” she murmured sleepily to no one.

Molly had not bothered to check the time, nor to see who the caller was. Swiping carelessly at the glaring screen, she answered the call.

“Hello?” she said, rubbing the back of her neck with her eyes still closed.   
“Molly.”   
“Sherlock,” she exclaimed. Her eyes opened immediately upon hearing his voice.   
“Could you—“ he paused and seemed to choke. Or cough. She could not quite tell.  
“Sherlock?”   
“Sorry. Could you…could you come to Bart’s now?” he asked quietly. There was something odd about his voice and it troubled her.   
“Of course,” she answered without hesitation.   
“Thank you. A car will be sent over shortly. Do wait for it.” he said.   
“Understood.”

Strange calls at midnight and mysterious car pick-ups at dawn were nothing new for Molly. For a time, they had been a regular fixture of her life. Especially when Sherlock had been in hiding, post-‘suicide’. It was mostly his brother who summoned her, but it always had to to do with the detective.

The car took her to the back of the hospital where she was met with a few familiar faces from Mycroft’s staff. They greeted her with a simple nod and ushered her into the building. She was brought to one of the cold rooms that were reserved for special cases. It was where they housed the bodies of high-profile criminals, for example, or the bodies of politicians and dignitaries.

When she approached the room, she could see through the two round windows in the large swinging doors that Sherlock Holmes was already inside. He was standing very still and appeared to be looking down at something. A sight like this was nothing unusual for Molly. They were always meeting at morgues, talking over dead bodies.

She was brought in by the staff who, after pushing the doors open for her, remained outside. The room was dead quiet, with only the soft sounds of her shoes as she made her way to the detective. He was standing by the only table in the room. On it was a body, concealed entirely by a large cloth.

Molly could make out straightaway that the deceased was male, tall, and with a large shoe size to boot. She was instantly curious as to what had happened, for her to have been summoned out here in the middle of the night. When she turned to ask Sherlock what the case was about, she paused when she saw that his eyes were bloodshot and the tip of his nose was slightly pink as though he had had a cold.

No longer was she curious about the body on the table. Molly was curious, and worried, as to why the detective had been crying.

“Sherlock?” she asked, moving gently to touch his elbow.

Before her fingers could even touch the sleeve of his coat, his hand reached out to take hers as he turned swiftly to face her.

“Molly…” he uttered weakly.

She realised why his voice had sounded so strange on the phone. He had already been crying then.

“Whatever’s the matter?” she asked. She automatically drew him to herself, holding him with warm, gentle arms.

Sherlock buried his face in her hair and said not a word. His heart thumped loudly against her. Not only was it loud, Molly could feel its heaviness too.

“Darling…” she whispered, realising, but not caring, that she had let the word slip, “Please tell me what’s happened.”

Ordinarily, Sherlock would have flinched at the word. Instead, he clutched her even tighter whilst trying to take deep, steady breaths. He had cried enough and he was not about to do so again. There were things to do.

“I need you to…process a body.” he said so softly he could barely hear his own voice.

The request was neither unusual nor surprising. So many times he had diverted bodies he had picked, whether for a case or his own ‘research’, to her roster for her to autopsy. What she could not fathom was the state of devastation he was in.

“Okay,” she answered, pulling away from him but not before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He smiled a little, but the corners of his lips still trembled.

Molly quickly popped to the adjacent room to ready herself, sanitising her hands before snapping on a pair medical gloves. Taking a deep breath, she made her way back to the table, where she found Sherlock standing by it again. He looked down blankly at the body as he waited for her to walk over.

She took her place on the opposite side of the table and looked up at Sherlock. He returned her gaze and stared helplessly at her. It broke her heart, so she turned her attention to the body on the table. It was time she found out what had broken _his_.

“Shall I take a look now?” she asked, looking up at him.   
“Please,” he said, nodding.   
“Do you know the cause of death?” she asked, as professionally as she could. She knew he would prefer it that way.   
“Yes,” he answered, “A bullet to the heart.”  
“A murder then,” said Molly   
“Yes—” his voice diminished again, “A murder.”  
“So you already know the cause of death,”   
“I do,” he answered.  
“What do you need from me now?” she asked.

He blinked at her, then bowed his head. Molly waited for him to say something, but he did not. Instead, he removed the leather glove off his right hand and stretched to touch the top corner of the cloth. Sherlock inhaled, as though bracing himself, and Molly could hear his breath tremble. Deftly, he lifted the pale fabric off the body, pulling it back just enough to reveal the face and the shoulders of the deceased.

It was Molly’s turn to cry. She slapped her hand across her mouth as a single stream of hot tears slid silently down her face.

“He was ambushed,” began the detective, his voice shaking terribly.

Molly remained speechless and struggled to breathe between her sobs.

“I didn’t see it. He didn’t see it. We never saw it coming…” the detective said with a sad laugh.

Molly did not let him continue. She rushed over to Sherlock and held him. His heart was beating erratically and his skin burned from the sorrow that ran through him.

“I’m so sorry, Sherlock,” she whispered against his shirt, “I am so sorry.”  
“Don’t be…” he said, with a small laugh as his tears fell, “You know my brother. He would have frowned to see us both crying.”

At his words, they both broke down and sobbed. Quietly, the pair cried in each other’s arms. If there ever was a time to break, it was now. Sometimes, there was nothing else to do _but_ break.

The pain of loss Molly felt and that of Sherlock’s was too much for her to bear. Her mind had gone blank from shock, and blurry from sorrow. Molly clung on to Sherlock fiercely, wishing she had the power to do something, to change things. It was Sherlock who pulled them both apart, but kept his arms around her waist. Molly tried to steady her breathing, to gather her wits about herself. Sherlock cleared his throat and brushed wisps of tear-soaked hair away from her face. She smiled lovingly at him, tiptoeing to kiss him earnestly on one cheek, then on the other. She stepped back down and lifted her hand, running her thumb over his cheekbone to wipe the streaks of tear stains left.

“What do you need?” she asked softly, her fingers lingering on the side of his face.

Sherlock smiled bittersweetly, taking her into his arms as he held her tightly. He shut his eyes, breathing in her proximity.

“You.” he answered simply, “Just you.”

**END**


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